


Deny the Shifting Weight

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull Prompt Sundays, Declarations Of Love, Denial of Feelings, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:17:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5088674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Adoribull Prompt Sunday prompt: "I don't want to love you", for JustJasper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deny the Shifting Weight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustJasper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/gifts).



He hadn’t meant to be this way. The ‘vint had crawled into his bed one night, and he had smirked, shrugged and given him what he’d asked for. He remembers thinking at the time that it was a potential new source.  He knew the ‘vint liked to talk, liked a drink, and was eager for attention.  Perhaps that could translate into something they could use.

 

But just recently, he’d found himself watching the mage more carefully.  The disregard he shows for his own safety, often pushing himself far harder than he needs to..  It was true against every enemy they’d encountered, but the way it had seemed so personal against the Venatori was interesting, telling.  Dangerous, that recklessness, but not because it came from a lack of care.  More because it came from a surfeit of it; not from any desire to seem better, more important or brave than their companions, but a fervent belief in both the cause he was fighting for and the people he was fighting alongside.  Dangerous, that kind of love.

 

-|||-

 

He hadn’t wanted this.  No, no, it was all far too cliché, far too easy to see the line that went _rebellious little rich boy runs off and fucks the person most likely to set his parents teeth on edge_ _._  And that’s if it was just a fuck.  He thinks he might be in too deep now, wonders if he should pull back, to get out now before he gets hurt again, but knows it’s far, far too late for that.  

 

He catches himself at odd moments, wondering if… perhaps if he stays away from the tavern, if he’s caustic and cruel and everything that Bull expects him to be, he can just… make it gone.  This wanting.  Oh, Maker, there is just this… cord, tied here, here, just under his ribs.  It’s knotted inextricably now, entwined into the horns of a man, no, a _qunari,_ one who swings an ax for a living, is really no better than a Tal-Vashoth.  A qunari who admits to being an inveterate, unabashed liar, one who surely wouldn’t hesitate to use any emotional connection to advance the agenda of his people.  But for all that, also a qunari who dotes on his little band of misfits, who believes in them, frets over them as gently and with as much love as would be expected if they were his own sons and daughters.  A qunari with vast intelligence, and stunning curiosity, always questioning.  Sometimes with an insight which is frightening to Dorian.  Gentle.  Brutal.  Kind and clever and even funny, sometimes.  Unexpected.   _Sever it, sever it now, this tie,_ he thinks, staring out the library window at the rain.   _Before it tangles in your feet and brings you crashing down._

 

-|||-

 

It’s becoming kind of regular, and Bull doesn’t know if he likes it.  Oh, sure, he _likes_ it; the mewling noises Dorian makes when he comes, the silk-soft pampered skin welted red under Bull’s ministrations.  Bull’s learnt to expect him certain nights, has taken to leaving his door open when he knows Dorian might be by.  Has even taken to curtailing the advances of the servers, and fuck it if he doesn’t know that _that’s_ a problem.  But to focus on one individual still seems… odd to him, for a singular to be the rise and fall of everything is just downright stupid, puts in jeopardy everything that he’s meant to be working towards.  Everything that _they’re_ meant to be working towards.   _Who are you to decide what the Whole needs?_ his Tama had asked him once, and though her tone had been angry, her look had been worried, frightened almost.   Slippery slope , he thinks, trying to shrug it off, the worry that he’s just delaying the inevitable, that he’s in so deep now he’ll never be able to claw his way off the incline.  He knows where it leads to, down, down into madness, rejection, banishment.  And if he doesn’t have the Qun, what is there?   _There’s him_ _,_ his mind whispers, and he curses it for a traitor.

 

-|||-

 

If it was easy, he would have done it long ago.  But if it was easy, he reflects, putting on his boots as quietly as he can in the dim moonlight, it wouldn’t mean so much to him.  If it was easy, he wouldn’t need it so badly.  And there is always the future to think of, how impossible it all seems.  How things couldn’t possibly continue the way they are, how nothing ever does.  Nothing will change if he does not change it, but change comes at a cost, and hasn’t he spent enough of that kind of coinage for a lifetime?  How much will he be prepared to lose in service to his ideals?  He doesn’t know.  Maybe everything.

 

Because that’s what this is now.  Everything.  He still leaves in the early morning, but he knows the time is coming when Bull will ask him to stay, maybe with words, maybe not, but however he asks, Dorian knows he will.  He thought his world would shrink if he ever fell this hard again, but it hasn’t.  If anything, it’s expanded, become more alive, more beautiful than ever.  Worth more.  

 

-|||-

  
And then, it happens.  Such a little moment, where everything changes.  It is Dorian who gasps the words, head back, a bead of sweat trickling down behind his ear; his eyes closed, the motion of his body on Bull’s not hesitating even for a moment as he says them.  Lost to sensation, he moans his love, full, complete, desperate with need.  Bull thrusts upward, harder, beginning to be a little lost himself, and he leans forward, kisses the bronze skin, tastes sweat and soap and _Dorian_ _,_ just his taste, he knows he feels the same.  So he whispers the words again, Dorian groans and comes, Bull not far behind him.  And after, curled together, Bull cannot help it, he looks at Dorian, wondering with his eye if the words were true.  And Dorian returns his gaze, his grey eyes soft, and in that glance tells him everything he needed to know.


End file.
